Chapter 183: Break The Devil’s Horn

Upon an immovable shield.

Malik had truly poured everything he had left into the widening wound.

The Ghoul’s flesh resisted every inch of the way, that same strange, shield-reinforced toughness fighting back against Spine Splitter’s edge even through the crack Malik had already forced open.

But the blade held, same as it always had, same as it always would, carving deeper with every never-ending moment, a strike that felt to be hours instead of mere seconds.

His arms burned.

His legs trembled beneath the weight of Goliath’s Fall’s enlarged frame, every muscle stretched past what should have been reasonable endurance even for someone who’d survived the trials he had.

And yet, he never stopped.

It wasn’t an option.

Perhaps he would have hesitated if he saw no effect, but that was far from what was happening.

The wounds were widening, and the Ghoul’s screams were carrying genuine desperation beneath their discordant fury.

’Just a little more.’

He activated Scorpion’s Sting, black flame spreading along the blade’s edge, devouring everything it touched.

The wound blackened immediately, flesh dissolving into ash rather than simply bleeding, the Angel’s regenerative properties finally meeting something they struggled to patch over.

Whatever dark Rukh reknit torn skin and sealed open gashes apparently had no answer for flesh that no longer existed to be healed in the first place.

The Ghoul’s screaming reached a fever pitch.

All its mouths wailed in unison, the sound rattling across the battlefield loud enough to drown out every other clash of steel and spell still happening around them.

Soldiers elsewhere on the field instinctively covered their ears despite being locked in combat of their own, not knowing the source, but not wanting to know, fully trusting their Sultan to deal with the threat, whatever it was.

Meanwhile, Malik kept pushing that one attack, refusing to let the moment slip away now that he’d finally found real purchase against something that had mocked every previous attempt to hurt it.

Black blood poured out in rivers, pooling across the ground beneath the massive creature’s feet, steam rising faintly where the dark liquid met scorched earth still smoking from Ember’s Touch’s earlier assaults.

The smell grew worse with every passing moment, rot and ash mingling in the back of Malik’s throat.

If not drowned by sound or blood, he was close to drowning by smell.

Everything about this Angel was foul, a mockery of the Class.

It didn’t have anything... beyond, like the others did.

This Angel turned Ghoul was simply foul.

And it used that foulness to its advantage.

Thankfully, before Malik could suffocate, the structure beneath finally gave.

He felt it happen, some core piece of whatever kept this abomination animated finally crumbling under the combined assault of Spine Splitter’s edge and Scorpion’s Sting’s hungry black fire.

The Ghoul’s massive form began to sag, legs buckling beneath weight that had somehow grown too heavy for its own frame to support, the protective shield around it flickering erratically as it clearly struggled to keep pace with the damage being inflicted.

Malik didn’t slow down.

This was the moment.

If not now, then death would embrace them all.

Whatever Rukh it had left, it was clearly nowhere near enough to match what Malik was currently pouring into this final assault.

"RAAAAAAAAAH!"

He drove the blade in one final time, straight through the widening black wound, black fire consuming everything in its path, and felt the Ghoul’s entire body shudder in response, a vibration that traveled up through Spine Splitter’s hilt and into his own bones.

His sword had gone through.

The attack landed directly.

That was when, finally...

CRRRRRAAAACK!

It collapsed.

The massive form crumbled into ash and black blood, dissolving entirely by the time it finished hitting the ground, leaving nothing behind but scorched earth, a lingering stench of rot and smoke, mercifully, falling silent.

Malik stood amid the wreckage, breathing hard, Spine Splitter still smoking faintly in his grip, the black flame along its edge finally guttering out now that there was nothing left for it to consume.

Silence settled over that particular corner of the battlefield, broken only by the distant echoes of fighting still continuing elsewhere, by Kabir groaning as he pushed himself back upright nearby, by Zafar’s quiet, relieved exhale as he finally felt Sinbad’s heartbeat steady beneath his fingers.

Khaybar’s gate stood before him now, undefended, the last significant obstacle between his army and total victory finally cleared.

Malik allowed himself exactly one long breath before forcing his exhausted body back into motion, sheathing Spine Splitter, turning to check on his fallen commander, on Kabir’s injured shoulder, on the state of the battle still raging in every direction around them.

There was still more fighting to do.

But that was for them.

His job now was simple.

Yes, it was extremely simple.

Khaybar’s gate...

He had to lift it once more.

Like he lifted the one belonging to that military base.

Only this was... more, far, far more.

The thing was even bigger than he remembered.

No, no, he didn’t remember this at all; it wasn’t the same gate.

Its weight went far beyond a mere nine tons, perhaps in the hundreds.

It was big enough to stop any man or army.

But Malik wasn’t just any man.

He exhaled.

Steam rolled off his skin, his body a furnace, his blood a wildfire.

The ground beneath him blackened, scorched from the sheer heat rolling off him.

He stepped forward and appeared before the gate, the wind generated pushing away every soldier in the front line.

Malik took a beat and muttered something under his breath.

Sand floated up and began to swirl around his form, burning as it did.

Then, a moment later, he dug his fingers beneath the edge of an impossible weight.

"Hup."

He lifted.

It rose an inch...

GRRRNNNK-KKKRRRNNN-CLAAANG!

And what remained of the battlefield stopped.

Both sides just stared as the fighting froze.

Malik had the gate up to his waist.

The muscles in his arms and legs screamed.

His spine felt like it would snap in half.

But he didn’t stop.

He just kept pushing.

Higher and higher.

Until the gate was above his head.

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

Then, with a roar that split the sky, he threw it.

An unfathomably big slab of iron and stone was hurled aside.

It crashed down with the force of a falling giant.

The ground shook, rumbling for miles on end.

Dust swallowed the world.

And when it finally cleared—

"Go, break them."

The path was open.

...

The Sultan bellowed, roared.

Near was the promise of the great Devil’s downfall.

Obeyed him, soldiers, lions. Obeyed him, ranks.

Behind you, we follow!

Banners of the Sultan were raised, unbroken since the day of his Ascension.

The reply was ready, O soldiers of Devil’s Maw, to rush into the red jaws of death.

O oppressed soldiers, your Sultan has declared martyrdom your truth, in service of erasing Khaybar entire.

The fire of our enemies will not cease, save by greater fire still.

And so the Sultan’s soldiers fell upon them, sons of the battlefield, every last one.

O, I swear, we shall break the Devil’s horn.

[End Of Volume Four: Break The Devil’s Horn]